by Lee Savino
“For what?”
“You’ve been distressed, and at the back of my mind, I’ve known the cause of it.” His brow furrowed. “I had hoped your difficulty on the trail wouldn’t have permanent consequences. I knew it might, but I was just so grateful you’d survived. I was selfish.”
“Johnathan, no. You are never selfish. I should’ve confided in you.”
“Next time, speak to me, and I will listen. But know this: I would love a child, or ten, but I have you, and that’s enough.”
She sighed and rested her head on his chest. He savored the weight, and the scent of her hair, wondering how he’d been so blessed.
“My dear,” Johnathan said in his tenderest voice. “Whatever may come, know this: I’m living my best life with you.”
“I love you, Johnathan.”
“I love you, too. No matter what.” She snuggled closer, and he was content, until he had a thought.
“Of course,” he murmured against her hair, “you’re more than enough trouble on your own.”
* * *
Snow came to the mountains early that year, and the men finished the building just in time for snow to christen it. Built next to the Shepherds’ house, the large structure served as a makeshift hospital throughout the week, and a sanctuary on Sundays. With oil found in nearby Florence and Canon City, their little town had grown with miners and a few new families, and the Reverend served as minister and medic to anyone within ten miles. The “barn”, as Esther christened it, became one of the main hubs in town, rivaled only by Mr. Martin’s general store.
Christmas Eve the couples gathered together to sing carols and attend the holiday service. The Wilders and Donovans arrived early to help with food preparation, and as the afternoon wore on, the weather turned fierce enough to keep everyone else away.
“Snows coming down faster than ever,” Miles Donovan said, stomping his feet as he shut the door. His reddish brown hair was white with snowflakes, and he stayed by the door to shrug his coat off his broad shoulders. “If it gets much deeper I won’t want to drive the team through it,” he finished with a frown. His expression warmed when he saw his wife and daughter sitting near the large fireplace, Carrie’s pretty cheeks pink with warmth. “I would not have come for the service,” he admitted. “But it’s Christmas Eve, and Carrie wanted to be with friends.”
“You’re welcome to spend the night here,” Esther said, smiling at the thought of serious Miles Donovan wrapped around his wife’s little finger. “There’s room for everyone.”
“Oh, let’s,” Rose said. She and her dark-haired husband were sitting on a bench together, holding hands. “It’ll be fun.”
“Not a bad way to spend Christmas,” Lyle said, blue eyes twinkling as he grinned down at his bride.
Eyes still on his wife, Miles nodded his agreement.
“Then it’s settled.” The Reverend clapped Miles on the back then gathered them all near the fire to start the service.
After the hymns were sung and verses read, Lyle and Miles went to see to the horses while Esther and Carrie started cooking over the fire. Rose helped the Reverend pull a long table away from the corner, and load it up with the food they had on hand.
The Reverend pulled his wife aside. “How are our stores, dear? Is there enough for three couples and a babe?”
“We’ll serve bread and hot stew, cheese and winter apples,” Esther said, her brow wrinkling as she went through the list. “Tomorrow I’ll bake beans and make cookies and more bread. And of course there are the pies I made for Christmas, and we can open the preserves. Carrie and Miles brought a crock of butter, and the pantry is full with bags of corn and grain.” Taking a deep breath, she finished with a triumphant smile. “We will not grow hungry, not even if we’re here a week.”
“Good,” Johnathan murmured, and pressed a kiss to his wife’s blonde hair.
The two men came back in from the horses, blowing hard with cold.
“Wind’s picking up. Blizzard is coming in,” Lyle reported.
Miles knocked snow off his clothes, and went straight to his wife and child, still sitting by the fire.
A knock sounded on the door, and Lyle opened it for a short, balding man, who hustled in, blowing with cold.
“Mr. Martin, welcome,” Esther cried. “What brings you here on this fine winter’s day?”
“Surely you jest,” the man said weakly, shaking snow off his clothes. The top of his bald head was red with cold. “The snow is to my knee.”
“What’s in the bag?” Lyle asked when the shopkeeper swung down a large sack he’d borne on his back.
Martin found himself at the center of attention, and flushed. “Uh, gifts. I heard you were holed up in here.”
The short man sounded almost embarrassed, and when Lyle moved forward, the shopkeeper scuttled back. The dark-haired man knelt and peered into the bag.
“Oh, ho,” Lyle chuckled.
“What is it?” Rose came to her husband’s side as everyone else in the room leaned forward to see.
With a flourish, Lyle reached into the bag and pulled out a whole smoked ham. “Here you are, my dear.” He handed the gift up to Rose. “Merry Christmas.” He winked at her, and she laughed at him, and then carried her prize to the stone fireplace so the Donovans could examine it.
“Wonderful!” Carrie exclaimed. Her husband sat behind her on the hearth, his broad arms surrounded both her and their tiny daughter.
Grinning broadly, Lyle kept playing St. Nicholas, drawing out more and more goodies from the sack. Two more hams, cans of peaches and preserves, a jug of molasses, and a sack or two of fine sugar—there seemed no end to the gifts in the bag. There were little peppermint candies, spools of thread and a lumpy package of brown paper bound with twine. Miles cut it open, and showed them to his wife.
“Chestnuts,” he said with a rare smile, and held them up for the rest of the party.
“Merry Christmas, my good man.” Johnathan slapped Lawrence Martin on the back, beaming down at the shopkeeper almost half his height.
“Roasted chestnuts are Mr. Shepherd’s favorite,” Esther told the room.
“We’ll feast tonight, and tomorrow.” Lyle stood and caught Rose up in his arms, swinging her around until she laughed breathlessly. “Food, and cider, and dancing.” With no shame, he leaned down and kissed his bride full on the mouth. When the handsome man was done, his wife had roses on her pale cheeks to rival her auburn hair.
“It’s a party,” Esther cried. “Mr. Martin you must stay. You are our guest of honor.”
“Oh, all right.” The short man flushed. Impulsively, Esther leaned in and kissed his cheek, then danced off to gather the ham and other foodstuffs to take to the pantry, leaving Mr. Martin red from cheeks to balding crown.
“You’re welcome to stay and sleep here. There’s room for all of us,” Johnathan told the shopkeeper. “No sense in spending Christmas alone.”
“Yes, it’s not good for a man to be alone,” Esther said as she passed, her arms full of cans of peaches.
Johnathan raised a quelling brow, but Esther winked at her husband and went on her way, smiling at some private joke.
“I think I shall stay. I mean, if there’s room,” Martin said. “I can always bed down by the hearth.”
“Nonsense. There’s one last room here, and you’re welcome to it.”
“What if there’s a patient?” Rose asked.
“Don’t think anyone’s getting in during that storm,” Miles answered for the Reverend. Carrie now sat on the hearth angled away from the group, a shawl over her shoulder as she nursed her babe. When he looked back at his wife and child, the tenderness in Miles’ usually stern face was breathtaking.
“I should hope no one tries,” Johnathan said. “In fact, after we bring in more wood for the fire, we should stay in for the night.”
“I’ll go with you.” Lyle stood, and Miles too, and followed their tall minister back out into the cold.
“Once they’re
back, we’ll have dinner.” Esther came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. “Will someone help set the table?”
“I will.” Mr. Martin started forward, only to halt in his tracks when Rose headed in the same direction. The shopkeeper bowed away awkwardly and the redhead looked down her nose at him then swept into the kitchen.
Esther watched this with amusement. “Mr. Martin, you’ll catch a chill. Why don’t you sit by the fire and warm yourself?”
“Ah, yes, I believe I shall,” the balding man babbled.
In the kitchen, Esther found Rose savagely slicing the bread.
“Trouble with Mr. Martin?” Esther asked.
“He treats me like a leper,” Rose said.
Esther smiled as she gathered up a basket of apples. “It’s because he admires you, Rose. He used to act the same around me, before you took my position as town beauty.”
Rose rolled her eyes at her friend. “I thought it was because he thinks I’m a painted woman.”
“I promise you, he is tongue-tied around any woman, more so when it’s someone as lovely as you. I’m surprised the poor man can remain upright when faced with you, me and Carrie.” Esther went out with the apples, and when she returned, Rose didn’t look upset anymore, just thoughtful.
“He needs a wife,” Rose said.
“That he does.”
Ducking her head, Rose whispered, “Any word from the lady of the ad?”
“I don’t know—” Esther started, eyes twinkling, but the sound of the men returning stopped her gossip. With a wink at her redheaded friend, she called, “Supper!” and the two women hurried to bring out the rest of the meal.
* * *
Later that night, inside the barn was dark and quiet, but for the crackling fire and Mr. Martin’s wheezing snores. Lyle rose to check the fire, then closed the shopkeeper’s bedroom door before heading back to his own bed. The wind howled outside like a hungry wolf, but the bedroom was a quiet haven. After checking the two warming stones at the foot of the bed, Lyle stripped down to his breeches and climbed in next to Rose. She stirred a little, and he kissed her bare shoulder before replacing the quilt and tucking her into his arms.
“Everything all right?” she murmured sleepily.
“It is now,” he said into the shell of her ear, pulling her close to enjoy her warmth against him. “Fire’s banked, hot stones at our feet… everyone else asleep.” As his lips nuzzled her, he drew her hips back so her bottom rubbed against him. His left hand slid between her nightgown and her skin, finding a breast and cupping it in a roughened palm.
“Mmmm,” she murmured, arching her back so her bottom teased him further, at the same time pushing her breast into his hand. Lyle felt himself stiffen and grow against her soft rear as she pressed against him. For a while his fingers played with her nipples, feeling her body wake up. She sighed, and Lyle grinned. His wife acted haughty as a queen, with a fiery temper, but he knew how to tame her. A good bedding and dose of pleasure, and she’d be docile as a lamb.
Snaking his right arm around her, he continued to torment her breasts with that hand, while the left traveled slowly downward, exploring the soft island of her belly, the curve of her hips and the sweet, sweet valley between her legs. By the time he reached his destination, her hips were moving restlessly, an undulating dance that stirred his cock until it strained against his trousers.
“What do we have here?” he growled into her ear, stroking her folds with a feather-light touch, and hearing her whimper softly as her body started to quicken.
He played her body like a fine instrument, fiddling between her legs, squeezing her breasts, even dipping his head to trace her ear with his tongue.
“You ready for me?” he asked when the soft noises she was making became more desperate. His fingers between her legs did a swirl and her hips jerked, begging him.
“Yes, please, Lyle.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure, darling. Perhaps we should just sleep.” His fingers retreated, even as his cock throbbed almost painfully, nestled between her bottom’s fleshy cheeks.
With a cry, she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her slippery quim. Keeping his fingers firmly between her legs, she rolled towards him, lips drawing his into a frantic kiss. Her breathy moans called to him, her grip on his wrist tightening as her body still strived towards the fingers strumming her clit.
Shifting so his long body lay over hers, Lyle kept one hand between her legs and undid his breeches with the other. His wife writhed before him, her pale body under her thin chemise almost glowing in the darkness.
“Lyle, please.”
Hearing her soft cry, he pulled his hand away and replaced it with his cock, sitting right at her entrance. She squirmed, trying to reach for him, and he held her hips down to teach her who would lead.
Rose went on begging, even grabbing at his buttocks to pull him closer, and he took her wrists and planted them firmly on either side of her body.
“Be still, Rose,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. His Rose had spent a lifetime controlling men with her looks and body. By controlling the pace of their loving, he made it clear he wouldn’t be one of them.
As usual, her body responded to his dominance, her pleading sweet to his ears as her pussy creamed even more around the head of his cock.
“Who rules this body?” he asked, even as his cock pulsed, longing to sink into her sweetness.
She moaned, and he leaned over her, holding his body over hers.
“I can’t hear you,” he growled, nipping and sucking at her neck, keeping her arms pinned to the mattress so he could torture her without interruption.
When he raised his head again, her body was shaking, taut with desire, and her pussy was wetter than a rising river.
“You do,” she sighed.
Immediately he rewarded her, sliding his length into her soft folds, biting back a groan as he felt her quiver around his dick. He started to thrust in and out of her sopping quim.
“That’s right, Rose. I do.” His mouth fastened on hers, plundering it with his tongue and swallowing her cries as they both rode over the crest together.
When they were done, they lay together, him on his side and her facing him. He draped one of his heavy legs over hers, and kept a hand at her back, cocooning her close.
“Merry Christmas,” he murmured and bent his head to give her a gentle kiss.
“It is merry,” she said in wonder. “I’m almost glad we’re snowed in. Tomorrow will be so nice.”
It warmed Lyle to hear this; his wife’s rocky childhood and years of living on the road in a traveling show, going from saloon to saloon, couldn’t have made for a very happy holiday. He was determined to give her every good thing.
They were just drifting to sleep, when Lyle felt her stiffen against him.
“What’s that?” she asked, and then he heard it too: a knock booming against the door. For a second they lay frozen together, but the pounding only grew louder.
“Stay here.” He left the bed to pull on his shirt and boots.
“Who would come here in a blizzard?” Rose also sat up in bed, and he could hear the fear in her voice.
Bending, he kissed her. “All’s well. Probably just a patient for Shepherd. I’ll just check.” All the same, he grabbed his pistol before he left. Whoever was beating at the door sounded strong, and he would take no chances, not with such treasure lying in his bed.
A shadow waited for Lyle by the hearth; Dr. Shepherd fully clothed except for bare feet. A lamp flared in the corner, and Esther stepped out of the bedroom, clutching a shawl over her night rail.
“Here.” She came to hand her husband the light. He took it, directing her with a gesture to go back to the bedroom and close the door.
“A patient?” Lyle asked Johnathan in a low voice, as the banging continued.
“Open up,” a muffled voice shouted. A man. The barn door shuddered under a heavy fist.
Another bedroom door opened and Miles came o
ut, pulling up his suspenders. One glance at Lyle, and the stocky man also caught up his rifle.
From the Donovan’s room, the baby Mary began a wavering cry. Miles turned on his heel, ducking back into the room to check on Carrie. When he exited again, he shut the door, the thick wood shutting off all sound of the babe.
“Ready?” Johnathan asked grimly, even as Mr. Martin came out, blinking sleepily, dressed in his long underwear. Rose also peeked out, her red hair spread over her quilt.
“Stay in the room,” Lyle ordered his wife, and after a quick glance around the room, she obeyed. Mr. Martin also disappeared, perhaps mortified that Rose had seen him in his long johns.
“Ready,” Lyle confirmed once Rose’s door had shut. He and Miles trained their guns on the door as Johnathan went to open it.
The Reverend waited until there was a pause in the savage pounding, then called, “Who’s there?”
“A friend. Let me in!”
Johnathan undid the latch. The door swung open, and a blast of cold wind sent the Revered staggering back.
A tall, snowy form burst through the door, stamping and blowing. “Damn the cold. Thought I’d be stuck out there forever.”
Miles shouted for the intruder to stop, at the same time Lyle recognized the stranger’s cocky voice.
“No.” Lyle motioned his friend to lower the shotgun. “It’s my brother.”
“Hello.” The younger Wilder was almost as tall as Lyle, but with a rough face and a thick beard filled with snow. “What’s everybody doing here?”
“Trying to outlast a blizzard, you fool,” Lyle said affectionately, and stepped forward and slapped his brother’s back, melting frost and all. Snow fell from Jesse’s beard and dark hair. “More sense than you.”
Jesse chuckled and pounded his brother on the back. “Merry Christmas to you too.” Then he whirled to stop Johnathan from shutting the door. “I’ve brought a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Lyle asked, but Miles had already swapped his gun for his coat, and was following Jesse out to see to the horse team.
“I’ll build up the fire,” Johnathan said.
